


birdy.

by asnanana



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Avengers - Freeform, F/M, Mutant Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 11:34:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14104485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asnanana/pseuds/asnanana
Summary: Frank smiles, and its the kind of smile where the corners of the mouth push on his cheeks and he’s trying to fight it back. It’s an endearing sight, and you try very hard to keep the anger on your face, but it’s futile.It always is with Frank.





	birdy.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is the first fic I ever wrote for Frank and I, like many others, are caught on the Jon Bernthal train and cannot seem to get off (willingly, of course). I would love to write more for Frank and would love some feedback! Thank you all so much for reading! 
> 
> (This fic may be the startup to a series with Frank and this specific character, but I am not entirely sure yet.)

The diner is surprisingly loud.

It’s two in the morning on the day after Christmas and even without all the noise from the kitchen, the chatter from the seated diners is loud enough to be off-putting for a regular like Frank.

That’s the first thing he noticed when he sat down at his regular booth.

The second thing he notices is that you’re _heated_. You very quickly ordered strawberry and banana pancakes from the waitress, without even looking at the menu, and told her to make sure the coffee kept coming. He just orders the black coffee.

When he asked what was wrong, you simply shook your head and said, “I need my food first.” Frank smiles, and its the kind of smile where the corners of the mouth push on his cheeks and he’s trying to fight it back. It’s an endearing sight, and you try very hard to keep the anger on your face, but it’s futile.

It always is with Frank.

As an Avenger, your meetings with Frank tend to be too few and too quick. It’s your duty to protect people around the world and not hang out with problematic vigilantes like Frank Castle. That kind of news would taint the image of the Avengers.

But, what your teammates don’t know won’t kill them. And besides, since his whole prison escape he’s been on the down low and has established himself as Pete, so in the end you’re not hanging out with Frank Castle per say, you’re with Pete Castiglione. Or, so you tell yourself.

He tries to make small talk with you despite the anger rolling off of you like waves, only to receive your glares in return. But to be fair, he’s being a little shit with his small talk.

_“Y'know birdy,” he’s got a little smirk when he says the nickname, “you really should order something different. Too much of the same things gets ya’ sick.”_

_You turn your attention from watching the snowfall from the window, to giving him a cold stare from across the booth._

_“Take your own advice, Frankie,” you give a glance towards his cup of coffee, crossing your arms when he nods his head in approval._

_“Touché, birdy._ ”

The name is innocuous, and sometimes endearing when Frank isn’t being a dickhead. The name came when you first partnered up on a mission.

You were assigned on a mission in Hell’s Kitchen to investigate an extensive underground trafficking ring that had the possibility of being linked to an officer from HYDRA. The name ‘Frank Castle’ became prominent throughout your searches. You cornered him (in the very same booth of the very same diner you both were sitting at now) and questioned him about the situation. He knew more than names, he knew locations and times and after determining that he wasn’t a threat, it was only logical that having him as a partner on this assignment would benefit you.

Needless to say, he was hesitant. In fact, he flat out refused and told you to stay the hell away from him.

You followed him to his car, bargained and confirmed that you would not be including his name in any mission debriefing statements and that SHIELD or the Avengers or any government agency would not be trailing him afterwards. And if they did, it wouldn’t be from you.

When you were standing in front of his beat-up van in the dead of night, basically pleading with him to help you on this case, he knew he had no other choice, no matter what any voice in his head said otherwise.

The name “Birdy” came when during said mission, Frank was lying on the ground, aiming his sniper for a window when a bird had landed in his view. He could still make the shot if he had pulled the trigger, despite the bird being there, but wasn’t going to. But, you didn’t know that. (You made a vow to never peek into the mind of someone else unless given permission.)

You quickly pushed the nozzle of the sniper to the side with your hand, staring him in the eyes with an intensity he hadn’t seen in your eyes before.

“Don’t. Shoot. The bird.”

After a brief stare down between the two of you, he muttered a quick, “Wasn’t goin’ to.” and worked to fix his aim on the window. Thus, earning you the name birdy from that point on.

You’re not entirely sure why he was fixated on that name, but it stuck, even a year and a half later.

You’d both changed, but the name hadn’t. You’re time as an Avenger made you rougher, but the spunk hopefulness that accompanied you hadn’t completely gone away (which Frank will never outwardly admit, but he's secretly glad for). You’re not some newbie on the team anymore. You’re an actual Avenger, with full control of her telepathic abilities and the world balanced effortlessly on her shoulders. You're a hero.

(Something Frank would never be.)

Frank is still Frank, but he’s different with you now. He’s more open, able to tell you about his past but not more than once. He allows himself to smile more with you and feel things other than hate and anger. He has your number memorized by heart, and he’s not afraid to call when he needs to–which in your mind, is more progress than you could have ever hoped for, despite how minuscule it seems when said out loud.

When your pancakes arrive, you’ve already got half of them in your mouth before Frank has the chance to blink.

You begin your long-winded story with a mouth full of pancakes, waving your fork around wildly with the occasional points at him and the bobbing of your head. He nods in response, with the reoccuring hums and silent sips of his coffee, but you know you have his full attention. You always do.

“..and so, I’m sitting there, actually having a good time for the first time since I came back from that hell of a mission- and the guy’s cute! He’s genuinely cute and only a couple years older than me and he’s funny and knows how to have a good time! And just when I think that this might not have been a night wasted-”

“Lemme guess: He’s got a wife.”

“ _He’s got a wife_! And that’s not even the best part- hand me the- yep that one, thank you- She’s pregnant! And they have four kids. So I’m on a date, with a married father on Christmas day! Best part is: he didn’t even tell me– nooo, it was his poor wife that walked in and began yelling at us in the middle of the bar, Frank! _Ugh_!” You throw your fork down, pushing the palms of your hands into your eyes, “And to think I was actually enjoying myself. God, what kind of man would do that?!”

Frank takes another sip, “A dirty one.”

“Exactly! I knew I should’ve just listened to my gut and just not have gone. Would’ve saved me a lotta trouble and I could’ve just come down and been with you. Would’ve been a hundred times better.” You’re shaking your head, picking up your fork and poking around the remains of your late night breakfast.

“That is the last time I’m going on a blind date with a suggestion from Sam. You’d’ve thought I would’ve known better from the first two dates but _noooo_ -” Your voice trails off into mutters as you stare down at your plate, one hand holding your head up and the other playing with your food. Your anger is slowly dissipating, having been relieved from your rant, and your furrowed face slowly relaxes only to be replaced by a small pout.

Frank knows better than to interject a comment. It’s better to just let you ride out your anger rather than making it worse. He’s content to just stare at your face.

After a few minutes, you straighten yourself from your hunch and lean yourself against the booth seat, looking at your partner from across the booth.

The bruises under his eyes are slowly healing, although you’re pretty sure they never will. His under eyes will permanently be painted a deep purple. But, it suits him.

He’s always getting into trouble one way or another, even if he is laying low.

He’s got a cut starting from the middle of his left cheek all the way to the bridge on his nose and even though it’s distracting, it never holds attention long enough to draw someone away from noticing his handsome features. Even more so now that he’s growing out his beard.

You take these few minutes of silence to really take him in. It’s been over four months since you saw him last, a mission in Brazil taking you away for a majority of that time.

You’ve missed him. A lot.

You’re teammates are fantastic and you’re at a point in your relationship with them where you’ve never felt more comfortable, but they each have their own partners. Natasha and Clint, Steve and Sam, Tony and Rhodey. They’ve got their partners and yours just so happens to be in Hell’s Kitchen, doing his own stupid shit.

It’s not hard to fall into routine whenever you meet with him, no matter how long it’s been. Conversation is easy and the silences are never awkward. It’s the closest thing to home.

At least for you it is.

“Well,” you break yourself out of your trance with an exhale of breath, “enough about me. How was your Christmas? Did you do anything?”

Frank nods, his forearms braced against the table, his baseball cap obscuring his eyes from your view everytime his head dips down, but you don’t mind that much.

“Fine. Went to see an old friend,” he pauses his statement when the waitress comes by to pick up your plate and refill the coffees. You take a napkin from the container and start to clean up the little droplets of syrup that fell onto the table, “and then I- uh- ahem- I went to see the kids.”

You’re head snaps up, staring at him. The last time he told you he saw them was in March, for Maria’s birthday.

“Good!” you say a bit too enthusiastically, “That’s-that’s amazing! That’s- um, that’s great. That’s really great Frank.”

He huffs out an amused breath of air through his nose, looking away from you before coming back to meet your gaze.

He knows he’s not the easiest person and you’ve been trying your hardest to get him some therapeutic help. He knows that. And as much as he fucking _loathes_ it- he appreciates the thought, even though he won’t ever sit across some damn couch and tell a stranger about his feelings, cause that’s just _bullshit_.

Him telling you this is a big step, however, in his recovery. And he knows how much that means to you, so he’ll indulge you.

“How was it? I mean- are you okay?” Your voice is much softer, obviously catching your enthusiasm and toning it down so as to not scare him away (or draw attention from other patrons), but it still holds that tiny twinge of excitement.

He nods, “Yeah. I got through it. It was nice.”

You know that’s all he’ll say about that, and you’re content with that.

You give a nod, a small smile on your face when you meet eyes with him, “Good. I’m very happy for you Frankie.”

You draw the conversation away from the vulnerability he allowed you to see and begin telling a story about your mission in Brazil. If he’s being honest, he’s not really listening, but the varying pitches and spaces your voice provides is a comforting background to his thoughts. He nods in all the right places as though he was listening, and he’s doing a very good job at it. If anyone were to look at you two, it would seem as such, but you know the truth. It takes a lot to fool you.

When the story dies down, and that silence fills the space between you both, you’re almost inclined to take that silence as the cue to leave.

Frank, however, is a man of many surprises. No one ever seems to know what’s running through his head, including you. So, when he reaches into his pocket and takes out a long, rectangular wrapped present onto the table, you’re more than shocked.

You’re eyes dart from the candy cane wrapping, to his deep eyes, then back to the present, then back to him. _What do you want me to do with this?_

“Open it.” The corner of his mouth tugs upward at your hesitancy, and the inner conflict you’re experiencing is very apparent on your face.

“But- I didn’t get you anything.”

“Just open the damn thing.”

You, very delicately, take the slender box into your hands and began to unwrap the present. You don’t rip into, simply taking your time to slowly peel the tape away and gently unfold the wrapping.

“I found it when I was walkin’ around. Reminded me of you.”

The box is soft, made of blue velvet and the fact that he just had you in mind at all, is enough of a gift already. You’d be more than happy to just accept the box and not the gift inside.

When you open the box, the small gasp that comes out is involuntary.

He’s scratching the back of his neck, looking down at the table, “It’s- y'know- Not fuckin’ Tiffany’s or some shit but- It’s, uh- I just-”

“Frank,” you call to him. He slowly brings his eyes up to meet yours, almost afraid of what you’re going to say next and he’s not sure why. You’d never spit in his face or anything like that, but his heart is racing with nervousness at being unable to read your expression and seeing if you like it or not. He’s not even sure how he used to do this with Maria, cause god _damn,_ it feels like he took a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart.

“I love it.”

The necklace is simple. It’s a small gold chain with a small pendent of a bird taking flight in the center. It’s small enough for you to hide it under your clothing and it not to be a nuisance. You already know it will feel like a second skin.

You haven’t even put it on yet and you already never want to take it off. You’re taking the chain out of the box asking, “Can you put it on me?” with a large smile on your face to a relieved Frank.

A surprised chuckle escapes his mouth, “Yeah, yeah, of course. C'mere.”

You move to sit next to him on his side of the booth, your thighs barely touching, but enough for the heat to be transferred between you two.

You present the back of your neck to him and hand him the chain. His hands are gentle when he’s putting on the chain, and you have half a brain to lean into his touch when his fingers touch your neck.

The action doesn’t take too long, but it feels like a lifetime between the two of you. When he secures the chain in the clasp, he lets out a low, “Done.” but you don’t move from your spot.

You straighten yourself and turn your body to face him, the smile still wide on your face.

“Thank you.”

You stay seated next to him for the rest of the night, the smile never leaving your faces, as you two talk about anything and everything, the happiness radiating from the both of you.

It’s noticeable, even to the lovely waitress who is very familiar with Frank. She takes on glance at the two of you, a smile crossing her face.

It may not be noticeable to you both, but she can see it.

_The little bird is drawn to her favorite oak tree, And my, my, my, isn’t that a sight to see?_

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to message me on my tumblr: haztory


End file.
